Informs much of my own managerial experience, and not just because I keep a box cutter in my desk drawer.
What? I’ve got no MBA and a surplus of people who appear to need constant supervision lest their ill-considered actions bring an otherwise functional institution crashing to the ground.
A girl’s gotta work with what she’s got. Which, in my case, is nothing, a blunt utility knife, and a Philadelphia fuse.*
*If you have never had the pleasure, it works something like this: (1.) Piss off someone from Philly. (2.) Wait anywhere from 1 second to forty years. (3.) Be astonished when you look down and realize you’ve soiled yourself from sheer terror. Then (4.) RUN, motherf*cker. Because (5.) it only gets worse after that.